Death and Ecstasy
by TheNeonMoose
Summary: After cleaning his pistols, Agent 47 is remembering various missions specific to the different aromas in his hotel room that are triggering the memories. It is a night he will not forget.


He sat at the table in his hotel room. His pistols were laid out before him freshly taken apart. Every piece was laid out meticulously across the entire table. To the side was a mahogany box that contained the supplies to clean his beautiful weapons. The bald man's frighteningly blue eyes looked over the many pieces before opening the wooden box and taking out the tools, oils, and cleaning fluids he needed.

The man, 47, went to work slowly cleaning each piece until they were perfect. These guns had been the difference between life and death on different occasions. Not all missions went smoothly and being silent wasn't an option anymore when that happened. They hadn't let him down a single time. He cleaned them with precision and delicately inspected them after they were done. If any part was not up to his standards, they were recleaned until they were.

47 didn't care how much time passed as he worked; this time was his alone time. It was time where he wasn't on his toes. There was no sneaking around and no meticulous planning on how to kill a target. It was just time that was all his and nothing was going to stand in his way of that.

The cleaning kit was put back together in the same way it was when it was opened; nothing was out of place. 47 enjoyed the control he had to make sure everything was perfect. That was who he was. He loved perfection. The smell of the oil and the gunpowder that lingered in the air was intoxicating. He breathed in the scent as he put his pistols back together with meticulousness.

It was all he could smell: gunpowder, oils, and metal. It filled his senses and clouded his brain. This smell was a high he couldn't get enough of. He groaned as he felt the heat rising in his lower body and his eyes rolled back slightly. His member twitched awake as he inhaled deeper. He put the guns back on the table fully put back together. They looked as if they had never been touched.The cold metal of the gun on bare skin was a luxury he didn't allow himself to have. He knew it was smooth, cold, and a thrill he wanted but didn't allow himself.

He removed his leather gloves and placed them neatly on the table next to the guns. They were what got to touch them and not anything else. He could smell the aroma of the leather now mixing in. The beautiful smell that was hard to believe the gloves still had. Metal, leather, and gunpowder filled his life just as it was filling his lungs. His member was now straining against his slacks. The fabric of the boxers that protected it from the scratchy slacks was silky against his sensitive organ. 47 tossed his head back and moaned. The scents within the room were too much. They were turning him on. They were the scents of his trade, his livelihood, and his passion.

47 undid his belt and in one quick motion flung it to the side. The buckle clattered on the floor like a bullet casing that was ejected out a just fired pistol. He was reminded of the gun smoke that came from the beautiful instrument that he breathed in after the shot. Hot and beautiful. He opened his pants and pushed them and his boxers down freeing his aching member. The agent took ahold of the throbbing organ in his cool, calloused hand with a ragged breath. It was thick and a decent length. He was engineered to be this way. He was to be the perfect all-around assassin, whether he was infiltrating as a lover or as a ghost no one sees.

Pre-cum leaked from the tip and trailed down the shaft. The agent slowly started pumping his cock. The pre-cum made it easier for him to get the movements started. 47, widened his legs and sunk in the chair until he could comfortably rest the back of his head on the back of the chair. He closed his eyes and breathed in the aroma that was overwhelming him in the room. His soft groans drifting him into his memories.

The leather was the first to come through his mind. The divine smell reminded him of all his missions. Whether it was his gloves or the smell of the car he stole on a mission a few months back as a getaway car after dumping the target's body into a crate that was in the garage. The car that he had sex in with the woman, his target, who owned it. He ended up snapping her neck as they both hit their climax in the back seat. It was a beautiful way to go out. He recalled how his sweaty skin clung to the material and its scent had started to attach itself to his naked body. The reminder of the painful feeling that felt like heaven as he peeled himself away from the backseat sent shivers down his body emitting a soft growl to rumble in the back of his throat.

His was working his cock with his normal diligence as to make sure he didn't cum just yet. His thumb swiped over the slit in the head and he moaned out louder. The metallic scent hit him quickly like a train that couldn't be stopped.

The smell reminded him of blood pooling out from a fresh kill. The smell of death he loved. It reminded him of blood that appeared on the neck of the man who met an unfortunate end to his garrote wire if it slipped across the skin as it was taut. The wire was the first go-to for any weapon. He was the most in control when he holds the deadly wire within his grasp. It was a beautiful feeling to put his strength into pulling that silver wire tight around the plump flesh of a target. Watching the wire bite into the skin, as if it was cutting into a soft cake, was something he loved the most about his job next to watching the light die from his target's eyes.

The mission before the last one was most recent in his mind. He had snuck into the bathroom of his target when they were in the shower. The steam from the hot water had filled the room, soaking into his skin. It felt wonderful. The shower's glass doors were fogged up, obscuring the view on both sides. The hitman could make out the shape of a young man that someone was paying him handsomely to eliminate in any form he chooses.

The agent had silently slipped across the tile floor until he suddenly had his garrote wire tightly wound around the man's neck. The target had thrashed against the ever-growing wet hitman that had him. 47 watched as the wire bit into the white skin turning it red around the path the wire had made its mark. As the target squirmed, the wire tore into the skin causing it to tear open and blood pooled out from around the wire. 47 had tightened his grip until the target had finally went still. The body grew heavier with no way for it to stay upright. The hitman laid the young man onto the floor, and slowly uncoiled the wire from his neck. The shower water continued running as 47 watched as the dark red blood trickled out, turning opaquer as the water mixed into the thick liquid slowly washing itself off the body and swirling down into the drain. It was like watching a painter thin down his paints and putting it onto a canvas, but he was the artist and this kill was his work of art.

He could barely stand it much longer. The pleasure was building as his strokes gained a slight speed. He gave a slight twist near the tip before continuing back down to add to the pleasure. His mouth was open as he panted and little moans escaped. His chest was rising and falling quickly as he tried to remain in control. The spicy smell of gunpowder hit him once again. It seemed more fragrant than before. His last resort. His guns, the precious instruments he always carried whether he planned to use them or not.

The agent could recall one time where that was all he brought. It was supposed to be a simple in and out mission. No guards or any other type of security. However, he was sorely mistaken when a guard popped out around the corner in the target's house. The guard had tried to quickly go for his gun on his belt, but not before 47 had unholstered his silenced pistol and fired a round into the young guard's skull with a soft _pop_. That was his first mistake. The room that was around the corner served as a makeshift guard headquarters. It turned out, someone had tipped off the target that a someone was coming for him. Four guards pooled out of the room and surrounded the hitman until his back was against the wall. Five guards were a little much for as small as the house had been.

The hitman breathed in. The world around him appeared to slow down. His other hand flew down to where his second pistol was cradled in a holster. He quickly drew it out and held out both arms and fire each pistol twice. As he breathed out, time felt like it was back to normal. He could hear the metallic clink of the last casing falling onto the ground before rolling to a stop. The burnt smell of the gunpowder filled his nostrils as he continued down the hall, stepping over the bodies. There was no point in hiding them. His presence was known, and he was sure this was the last of them. 47 strode down the hall with purpose. He went straight for the door at the end of the hall.

He pushed the door open, his pistols drawn. He was met with a sight of a young woman in her mid-twenties sitting at the end of her bed, her eyes red from the tears that were streaming down her face. She didn't beg, nor did she say a word. He put one pistol back in its holster as he closed the gap between them. She locked her eyes on 47's ocean blue eyes and waited, accepting her fate. He didn't draw it out. He reached down and held her shoulder and put the gun an inch away from her temple. He squeezed the trigger and with a quick and soft _pop,_ it was done _._ He laid her back gently on the bed. Her eyes began to glaze over, every trace of life leaving them. Blood slowly trickled from the entrance wound and spread to the white duvet she was on. He barely used his pistols on missions, but this time he created a masterpiece with them and he was proud.

The casing from his gun landed on the duvet next to her. He quietly picked it up and held it to his nose, smelling the still warm casing. The gunpowder aroma still drifted from the small brass casing. It was sweet like the face of the now dead woman in front him but spicy and mysterious like her history that he never bothered to ask about when accepting the mission. This smell was reminder of how rare of treat it was for him to use his pistols, and he was grateful for it.

The hitman's eyes were scrunched shut as he pumped his cock erratically. Every aspect of his meticulousness was gone. He moaned loud and wiggled in the chair from the pleasure. He felt the heat pooling in his stomach. It was almost too much. Every inch of his senses and mind were overwhelmed. His body shook with desire. He came with a groan, his hips bucking upwards as his hot seed spurted out. The hot sticky liquid coated his hand and ended up on his white shirt and spotted his black slacks. His hand fell away from his cock. 47's eyes fluttered opened and he stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. His breathing was finally starting to slow.

He sighed as the numbness in his mind slowly faded away. Next time he had to air out the room as he cleaned his guns.


End file.
